Paying the Piper
by blue c 84
Summary: Children are falling ill and the brothers find a potential new weapon
1. Chapter 1

In every town, city, and county of every state in the great continental USA, there was always several things Sam Winchester could count on. First, there would always be that bar. He never remembered names but they mostly looked the same-- hardwood tables, leatherette chairs, pub food, alcohol, classic rock music and some sort of card game or pool table. They always ended up in that kind of place like gravity. Though he must admit, some were more decent looking than others and tonight, they were in a pretty decent place. Good enough that the washroom was clean and well stocked with soap and tissue paper. Better yet, the place had wi- fi. For free.

So while he checked his email and scoured the interwebs for some interesting news, his brother Dean was doing the second thing that always happened like clockwork-- hustling money in a game. Tonight it was pool. Sam raised his head briefly to see how his brother was getting along with his new "friends". He wasn't surprised seeing his brother's opponent try to hide a frown while his entourage taunted the happy go lucky looking Winchester. A hefty looking pile of money, at least five hundred dollars Sam reckons, was sitting under a beer bottle waited for the winner after all. The eight- ball rolled easily from the one end to a side pocket. His brother shrugged sporting a coky grin as he collected his winnings and wisely declined the offer of a rematch "There's always tomorrow," he replied breezily, moving away from the pool table while counting the newly won cash on hand.

Sam leaned back on his chair watching Dean fan out the bills, grinning from ear to ear. "Not bad, I say, not bad at all," Dean said, taking his seat across the table. Sam merely looked away when his brother did the third thing he always expected to happen-- Dean raised his empty beer bottle at the youngest looking, not necessarily the nearest, waitress and winked.

And for his finale, number four-- "Sammy, did you remember to get me--"

"Pie?" Sam finished, shoving a plate of apple pie his way. He saw his brother's face light up in delight as he picked up his fork ready to dig in. Sometimes, it was hard for Sam to think that this scamming, easily distracted, easily pleased man was four years his senior let alone his older brother. His lips curved upward when Dean's eyes grew wide after taking a piece of pie.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing."

"It's really good pie."

Sam smirked. "I'm sure it is."

"Then what's with the face?"

"What face?" Sam asked, even more amused than ever. After all, after everything that's happened, lighter times like these were few and far between. Now that he's just single handedly jump started the apocalypse and placed them both in the precarious position of being in between and God's Angel Army and Satan's Demon Horde, awkward silences and unsaid conversations were more their thing now. Simple banter like this-- he'll take his chances where he could.

His chance was, as usual, shortlived.

The beefy man Dean had just played and his friend surrounded their table. Sam tried to ignore them turning to his laptop for solace. By the side of his eye, he could see Dean concentrate on his pie. The sore loser cleared his throat. "One more round," he demanded.

"Didn't see you there _buddy_," Dean replied cooly, "I tell you what though. You should try some of this pie."

"Come on dude," said one of his friends. "Just play him another game. Give him a chance to get his money back," he reasoned.

"You owe me another game, _friend_," the sore loser said impatiently.

"I don't owe you anything,_ pal_," Dean replied rising from his seat standing mere inches away from the bigger man.

Sam winced. His brother only stood until the guy's shoulder and was obviously smaller built. He was also outnumbered five to one. Yet, the only thought that went through Sam's mind was to save his laptop from the trouble that may ensue after they size each other up. He highly doubted he had to back his brother up with these odds. It was no contest.

"Hey!" A sharp call from the bar interrupted the tension building in the air. Sam turned to see a girl , just about his age, sitting on a barstool, shaking her head in disapproval. She ran her hand through her long black hair and swept her bangs to one side.

"Summer, don't," her friend beside her urged.

"If you guys want to end up in the E.R. And hang out with all those children falling sick, be my guest," she continued. She gave them a humourless smile before leaving money on the table and giving her friend a quick goodbye.

The warning worked. There were a few annoyed grumbles but the gang reluctantly moved away. "Ain't going near them kids," one said reaching out for his bottle. Sam eyed the man taking the earlier discarded bar stool.

"Must be that swine flu thing they keep talking about in the news," another quipped.

The girl beside him sighed and signalled the bartender for the bill. "Sorry, we're just kind of passing by but.... The children are falling sick?" Sam asked curiously.

The blonde nodded her head gravely. "Yup," she replied sadly.

"What do the doctors say?" He inquired.

The girl shrugged. "African sleeping sickness, encephalitis, vitamin deficiency, fatigue... they all just lie there. Like the energizer bunny left the building." she answered shaking her head. " All I know is the doctors-- they don't know what it is. Which makes my work just that much harder. Can you imagine having one doctor tell you to administer antibiotics then a second later, change the diagnosis? If I just worked under Sum then it'll be easy because she's the only one who seems to know what she's doing. But no. I just got off four back to back shifts like that. It's hell," she complained.

"So you're a nurse," Dean guessed taking the other seat beside her. "I like nurses," he said sticking out his hand with a lopsided grin on his face, "Dean. That's my younger brother Sam. And may I say, it sounds like those doctors don't know squat if they treat a girl like you like that."

"Can't really blame them," the girl replied. "Summer did the labs of her patients herself. Everything was clean."

Sam met Dean's concerned gaze. "Clean?" he repeated.

"As in all fifteen kids have normal levels of everything," she explained hopping down the stool. "Look, I could get in real trouble discussing this outside the hospital so best keep it to yourselves." She gave them a small wave before heading out the door. "Oh by the way," she stopped just as she pulled the door open, "hope you enjoy your stay here," she said.

"You bet we will," Dean replied giving the girl a small salute.

Sam frowned. Number five just happened. Everywhere and anywhere they went, they always seem to be able to run into some trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a cloudless sunny day outside but inside the hospital, the air hung heavy. Dean Winchester looked one look around the emergency ward's lobby and adjusted his suit. Inches behind him, he knew Sam was doing the same. Find potential exits. Look for anything out of place. Forget that they didn't exactly have a lot to say to each other during the ride to the hospital. Forget that there were times he caught Sam wanting to say something but kept his mouth shut instead. Forget that he wanted to say something but found nothing to really say. This is what they were raised to do.

They were raised to hunt.

Another lethargic child was wheeled across the room. He has never seen a place so packed with sick children and their worried parents. Any doubt that this might not be their thing flew out the door. In his opinion, it was one thing to mess with adults, but quite another thing to mess with children. "Sick son of a-"

"Dean," Sam cut him off before he could finish. "There are kids around."

"Just saying, you know," he replied moving towards what looked like the hospital receptionist, "They should mess with someone their own size for a change." He waved at the small girl eying him while resting her head on her distraught mother's lap.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" A middle aged doctor met them halfway to the table. He adjusted his glasses and shut the folder he was reading impatiently.

"Yes, actually, you could," Dean gave him a polite smile, retrieving the counterfeit ID inside his breast pocket, "we're from the CDC," he said, flashing the ID quickly. "Could we talk to the chief doctor about this situation you have here?"

The man met his gaze squarely. "You're looking at him," he replied in a no nonsense way. The man looked tired, "Doctor Washburne." He shook both their hands before exchanging folders with a passing doctor. "But you're not the CDC," he continued knowingly. "I called the CDC this morning. They said two days. So whatever game you boys are playing, this is neither the time nor the place."

"With all due respect sir," Sam said trailing the doctor as he went around, "We're actually off the clock. I called a friend and said we were passing by this town and he filled us in with what's happening. We thought we could check it out and help if we could."

Doctor Washburne eyed them suspiciously. "Come on," Dean shrugged wishing that the head doctor were a woman instead. Sam's puppy dog eyes and his charm worked better with the opposite sex after all. "We all know you should've set up quarantine by now," he added, trying to sound exactly like the doctors in that show he secretly liked to watch.

"Quarantine what exactly?" Dr. Washburne snapped. "There's nothing in any test that say these kids aren't healthy despite how they look. I've looked into every patient history there is to be seen. Every cut, every sniffle and nothing was out of the ordinary. They're all asleep. You want to pretend to be doctors and help? Diagnose this." He turned his back and headed straight for a waiting man in the center of the room.

"Well, I picked a hell of a time to visit," the older looking well built man. He ruffled his peppering hair a bit and grimaced. "I take it lunch anytime soon is out of the question?"

"Sorry Paul," the good doctor sighed, "Maybe after all this is done? How long are you in town for?"

"Just until the 26th," Paul replied. "Well if you get the chance, call me. I'm staying at the Whitespaces."

"Nice place," the doctor smiled. "Hey, where did you get that pendant? Jessie's been looking for a oboe charm."

"Oh, I took a Mediterranean cruise last..."

Dean rolled his eyes and looked away, secretly embarrassed for the two men. He wished he would never be that old to discuss souvenir jewelry with another person. Plus it also reminded him that he was missing his necklace. "Damn that Castiel," he muttered to himself. "Well Sammy," Dean turned to face his brother but found that he wasn't there. "Sam?" He finally spotted him a few meters away with a collapsed child of about ten in his arms. A distraught mother picked herself up from the floor slowly as doctors and nurses tried their best to attend to the child when Sam placed him on an empty bed.

The older Winchester's smiled. Chaos might be going on around him and he couldn't do anything about it. But he just caught a glimpse of someone he hadn't seen in a long time-- the old Sam. The brother that he picked up from school and used to lecture him about morality. He could see Sam's face etched with concern as the hospital staff wheeled the child into the intensive care unit and felt like a small weight has been lifted. Buried beneath that roughened kid, old Sam, the one he trusted, was still in there. "Come on, Sammy," he called, cocking his head towards main door, "there ain't anything we can do here."

" Dean." His brother grabbed his arm before he could move. "Demons, witches, warlocks, African sleeping juice.... " he ranted on quietly. "It's got to be something. These are kids. They die, this town is dead."

"You're right. This is our kind of thing," he replied. "But the doc didn't buy our cover and we can't stand here looking like the freaking Men in Black."

"This kid's delusional. She says she can hear flutes," he overheard a nurse say as she handed a file to a doctor.

"Can we go now," Dean prompted, making sure Sam followed his lead out the door.

Suddenly, a nurse ran past them with a handful of files. "Dr. Washburne, these kids," she said trying to catch her breath. "These were the ones woke up yesterday."

Dean paused watching the old man rifle through the files. "They're all back in?" the doctor exclaimed.

"Yes, sir. Summer's kids. Do we call her up?"

"No. Dr. McKenzie barely took a break this last few days," Dr. Washburne sighed. "Whatever this is, all we can do is hope it runs it's course soon. Just watch all of them. Inform me if there are any more changes," he ordered, managing to give the nurse a small smile.

"So this chick is the only one who has a clue?" Dean gave his brother a wry smile.

"Or did the deed. Sounds like a witch. Maybe we should check with Bobby to see what we're up agaisnt. We've never heard of a witch this... I mean what did she do? Hide hex bags in everyone's houses? Curse the water?" Sam suggested. "Do you think she might be... Pestilence?"

"Yeah well, you never know. Life is like a box of chocolates." Dean replied as indifferent as he could possibly sound.

– – –

Bobby Singer fingered the fading pictures on an old photo album he kept locked inside his table drawer. Nobody ever saw its pages except for him. Sometimes he liked to look at old photos to toast to the ones who have gone before him. They were so young then. And the young ones like the Winchester boys, were younger still. Just children really.

His mobile phone rang. He groaned in dismay when he realized he had left it in the other side of the room. By the time he wheeled himself over, the call had gone to voice mail. His caller ID told him that it was Sam.

"Like the bloody Apocalypse isn't enough," he sighed, calling his voice mail to see what the brothers wanted this time.

"Hey, Bobby, we're up in Washington. Just wanted to ask if it's possible for a witch to be strong enough to put children to sleep because if not, then Summer McKenzie might not be a witch and we might be dealing with something stronger. Like Pestilence. Call me back. It's Sam by the way."

Bobby Singer's eyes grew wide with worry and quickly did as he was told. He called Sam back.

----- – -

Summer Wind McKenzie heard her door bell ring twice but ignored it. "Evangelists," she grumbled before continuing on with her breakfast and reading the newspaper. Then she heard a small tinkling sound from her backdoor and frowned. She knew exactly what was happening. Someone was picking her lock. She groaned. She had always wanted to add a set of barrel locks on that door but never got around to it. She thought It was just like her luck to be robbed during her day off as well. At least she wasn't in pajamas anymore.

She should really have called the cops but decided against it. Summer decided to deal with these jokers herself before handing them over to the authorities just out of spite. She quickly rummaged through her bag and retrieved a retractable baton then quietly rushed to the small laundry room. She pressed herself against the wall beside her door just in time.

A second later the door swung open hiding her briefly from sight. She could see there were two of them. The first that walked in had a shotgun. The second taller one had a handgun. The first guy cocked his head to the other, a sure sign to close the door they had just gone through. Summer smirked.

"Hi," she greeted, grabbing her surprised intruder's by the collar and slamming his head on her washing machine. His handgun fell from his hands. She quickly shoved the dazed man to her broom closet.

"Sam!" the first one turned just as she barred the door with her baton. "Hey!" The man aimed shotgun as she dove for the fallen handgun.

"Hey yourself," she greeted quickly raising the gun though she was down on one knee.

"Dean!" the man stuck in the broom closet yelled.

"I'm good," the man named Dean replied. "You're the girl from the bar."

"You're the guy from the bar," she shot back.

"You know how to use that thing?"

"Of course."

"Coz you know the safety's on right?"

"No, it's not," she smirked keeping her gaze locked with his. She saw him flinch slightly when she called his bluff. "Why don't you slowly put the shotgun down and take ten steps back before you hurt yourself," Summer suggested.

"Hurt myself?" the man almost laughed. "Lady, I grew up with this stuff."

"So did I," she said.

"What?!" the man exclaimed. "That's bull."

Suddenly, a phone started ringing from inside the broom closet. Summer couldn't help thinking that these boys might just be the worst theives she had ever had the chance to encounter.

"Better believe it because if you don't put the shotgun down in five seconds, I'm going to shoot your kneecaps," she threatened as calmly as possible. Calm, she realized from her parents long ago, was much scarier than someone someone shouting out idle threats. "Five- four-"

"Aw, you have to be kidding me."

"Three-" she fingered the hammer.

"Dean! Dean put the gun down! Bobby's on the phone. He said we got it all wrong," his friend yelled.

Summer could see the reluctance on Dean's face and smirked."Two-" she continued her countdown anyway. If the shotgun wasn't on the floor when she was over then she knew she might be in trouble. They were too close together. If he fired the shotgun, she knew she wouldn't survive. Still, even with the beat up leather jacket and the semi- grungy clothes, he didn't look lke the kind to fire. If he were, he would've done so when she picked up the hand gun. If he were, he wouldn't look as indecisive as he did right now.

She, however, wasn't one to make idle threats. "One-" she angled the gun downwards, ready to pull the trigger.

"Bobby Singer!" his friend screamed from the closet. "Bobby Singer, wants to talk to you." Her finger left the trigger upon hearing that name. "He owns a junkyard in South Dakota," he continued, "He gave you the white 65 Beetle in the curb when you were fourteen. He taught you how to drive--"

"Oh no," She groaned, lowering her gun. Summer eyed the surprised man in front of her who lowered his weapon as well. She cringed realizing that he did fit a certain criteria of their profession. Rough. Tough. Tumbled. Reckless. Frustrated. Determined. Crazy. But most of all, he just looked... hurt. "You guys are hunters."


	3. Chapter 3

The girl plopped down on her sofa and took a sip of her coffee. "John Winchester? Didn't dad want to-- oh?...oh. Sounds like bad vibes. I'm sorry." She glanced at the two boys sitting beside her dinner table. "Really? So all that stuff-- oh. You finally finished that panic room?" She chuckled. "Oh, you'd love my house. I threw in the kitchen sink." Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. "You're in a wheelchair?! I know a really cool doctor down at--" It took a second for her to sit back down. "No way. Seriously? Apocalypse. That's what's been going around?" There was a chuckle. "I don't know, Uncle Bob. Pestilence? I'd believe you more if you said Shtriga-- which it's not." The girl cringed. "Yes, I have most of their books but seriously? They just--" she replied, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "Oh, stop with that brimstone bit. Look, I'll prove to you it's not Pestilence just listen--" She argued. "No, not herbal. I checked for that personally. And that stuff leaves a trace if you know what to look for. I bet you that doctor did not check your hair." She suddenly sat up. "Actually, when was the last time you went for a check up?"

Twenty minutes was about all he can handle. This girl shoved Sam inside a closet and almost busted his knee cap without a second thought and now she was discussing the finer points of their lives over a mobile line they pay for. He looked around the faded sky blue walls of her living room, the nice white painted furniture, shelves filled with books, the comfortable looking dark leather couch set, the large red rug underneath her coffee table stacked with magazines and the frosty pink tinged tiled floor and shook his head. Walking around barefoot in her torn up jeans and black camisole while playing with her teardrop pendant, she neither had the hard line Ellen always held, or the tough way Jo always carried herself. She definitely was nothing like Bela or Tamara. She wasn't as suspicious or careful as his own mother. Even the dearly departed, blind Pamela Barnes felt a hundred times more intimidating. Summer Wind McKenzie, in his opinion, lived a normal, carefree, domestic life. She could yak away with Bobby all she wanted, but it didn't change what he thought.

Despite what she knew and how she held herself in their fight earlier, that girl was no hunter.

And time was wasting away. Dean stood from his seat and marched over to the couch where the girl was still listening to whatever Bobby was telling her. "Dean--" Sam started his reproach in vain. He had already snatched the phone from the girl.

"Hey Uncle Bob," Dean greeted in the sweetest sarcastic voice he could manage, "could you maybe give the girl the cliff notes version of things so we can go on our merry way?"

"You're a piece of work, Dean. You give her my number and tell her to call," Bobby replied sourly before he shut the phone.

"So," Summer stood up from the couch with a small amused smile on her face, "Winchesters, huh?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

She grinned. "Your dad... hit on my mom infront of my dad once."

Much to Dean's surprise, the girl gave him a quick small hug before walking over to Sam to do the same. He stared wide eyed as she walked to the adjacent kitchen to prepare a cold compress for his brother's banged up head. "First you want to kill us and now you're hugging us?" he asked, confused.

"By the sounds of it, you guys needed a hug," she answered placing a glass of water in front of Sam. "Here you go, tough guy. Painkiller and a cold compress. Sorry about that," she apologized.

Dean narrowed his eyes with suspicion. She actually sounded and looked sincere. There was no tinge of sarcasm or an accusation that they deserved what they got. This was new.

"We should be the one apologizing. We're the ones who broke in," Sam said before popping the pill.

"I know. But still..." She trailed on before giving them another shrug. "Toast? Coffee? Sausage? Eggs? Hash?" She asked going back in the kitchen.

"What?" Dean asked confused as she placed a pan over her stove and placed bread in her toaster.

"Breakfast," Summer answered, simply enough. "It's ten past ten in the morning. Would you like some breakfast?"

"Uh, Sure?" Dean finally answered after a moment of silence.

"Great. Park yourself on the dining table beside your brother and give me a few minutes," she said breaking a few eggs in the pan.

"So did Bobby tell you--" Sam tried to break the ice after a few more seconds of silence.

"That you started the Apocalypse?" she finished for him in the same easy tone. "Yes, he did."

"And you're not going to rip us one?" Sam asked tentatively.

Dean watched the girl eye them curiously. "I'm not going to kick you when you're down," she replied, filling up two plates with food. "It's too much effort," she said, laying a plate of food each infront of them and pouring them coffee in mugs before taking a seat herself

He looked over his shoulder to see Sam raise both his shoulders, equally confused. When most people in their line of work hear they've started the Apocalypse, the yelling starts. Sometimes, there were punches involved. He couldn't blame them. The brothers deserved it. Nobody ever offered to make them a meal.

He didn't know what to do. Ask him to kill a demon or two, he would do it within a heartbeat. He had witty comments stored just in case someone talked trash. But nice? Nice just wasn't in his jurisdiction. "Works for me," Dean found himself saying before digging into his food. He couldn't recall the last time he had homemade food instead of the greasy things every diner seems to give them. By the looks of Sam across the table, he felt the same. "You and Bobby--"

"We're not actually relatives. He's a friend of my parents and they made him my godfather. Haven't seen or spoken to him in close to a decade," she replied while typing on her laptop. "And like I told him... we're not dealing with a horseman," she said slowly. Her brows furrowed as she paused staring at the information before her.

"Besides from the obvious..." she started to say as she stood and take several books off her neat shelf and piled it beside her laptop. "See here? That's not Pestilence." She pointed at a yellowing page scrawled with ink, looking expectantly at the brothers.

"Kid, I don't do Latin," Dean informed her.

Sam gave him a look of reproach. "Don't mind him, Summer. He's just a jerk," he said, politely.

"And you're just a bitch," he shot back at Sam instinctively.

"...Okay, well, it's not latin. It's aramaic... but sure, evs--" she replied quietly. "So, this, this and this," she pointed at several open old books, "it doesn't name the horseman as Pestilence. It says Conquest." She gave them another expectant look.

"Potato, potato. Tomato, tomato" Dean quipped, biting on some toast. By the side of his eye, he could see Sam glaring at him.

"So it can't be pestilence because it doesn't... exist?" Sam asked.

"No, that's not it," Summer answered carefully shaking her head with a confused expression. "Conquest is a tricky guy. It may or may not be killing anything. It just needs to conquer everything in some way, shape or form. It doesn't have to be with a disease. It's just easier with a disease and there are more examples of it in history. Thus, the mistranslation of it to Pestilence. But when it hits, it gets every single living thing from amoeba to human beings," she explained. " It conquers. Like the great flood, global warming or..." she looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a second before snapping her fingers, "that Croatoan bit Uncle Bobby was talking about."

"That's what I thought," Dean quipped, polishing off his potato hash.

"Plus Uncle Bob said you already saw War," she added, taking her seat. "Conquest comes before War. It's already around. It's probably already started working."

"Well, I don't know about you but I feel a whole lot better," said Dean.

The girl's gaze left her laptop and met his. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you know," he said, shrugging, "This is a bit simpler than taking on Hell's Belles."

"Excuse me?" she repeated.

Sam cleared his throat prompting his brother to keep his mouth shut. "Not that we think this is unimportant. It's just that we've been through a lot lately and--" he tried to explain.

"I get that part," Summer interrupted. "But you have to understand, I've personally checked patient's houses and schools, talked to their parents, teachers, bus drivers... everyone. I've done medical and non medical tests I can do looking for everything. I called a friend of mine to test the water. There are no hex bags, no seals, no herbs, no crop circles, nothing rotting, nothing suddenly springing up, no mysterious light in the sky, no marks on parents and relatives and nothing connected to any Solstice lore any lore on sleeping children. I've salted beds. I've even had IV drips blessed." She sighed. "Today is the 24th. This started three days ago. Patient Zero has been, for all intents and purposes, asleep since then. By my estimation, in two days, more than a hundred pre pubescent kids will be asleep, slowly wasting away in a hospital bed," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

"Creepy."

"Creepy?" Sam repeated after his brother.

"Yeah," his brother nodded, rifling through the magazines on the coffee table. He soon gave up, making himself comfortable on the sofa with a tv changer on his hand. "She cooked us breakfast, offered us a place to stay, treats us like family and she doesn't even know us. In fact, I don't think it escaped her notice, that we were here to bust her but she still gave us keys to this pad and told us to make ourselves at home," he explained.

Sam crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back on his dining chair. "She's nice. So?"

"So?" Dean tore his eyes away from the television and stared at his confused brother. "So no hunter I know is that nice. Bobby might as well be family but you don't see him rolling out the red carpet when we come by. There's gotta be some trap or something. We have to watch ourselves, Sammy," he said, with more conviction. "Whatever it is, we're not falling for it, witch!" he declared to no one in particular.

Sam chuckled earning him a look from Dean that told him his brother was dead serious. "You do know that there are nice people in this world," he said in reply.

Dean snorted. " Who knows what we know? Right. We're all just sunshine and rainbows."

"You used to believe angels didn't exist," Sam stated.

"And they're heaven's a-holes."

"The point is they exist," Sam argued. "So there could be nice hunters out there we just haven't met yet."

"This kid," Dean picked up a picture frame and pointed at a younger Summer in the middle of a group of graduates, "is not a hunter."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. "Of course she is. In fact, she's probably more paranoid than Bobby," he said.

"Yeah? And how's that?"

"Well for one thing," Sam pointed at the floor tiles matter of factly, "her floor's made out of halite."

"Ooooh some fancy tiles from a girl. You want to discuss doily patterns with her too?"

"Dean, they're natural rock salt bricks," he explained. His brother gave him a small nod. Sam knew his brother was impressed, even just a little. Dean should be-- he certainly was. Halite bricks weren't cheap. It also hadn't escaped his attention that every door and window was surrounded by decorative wrought iron. Or that on her wrists she wore several protective bracelets like the dzi bead, a short form rosary, or the leather bracelet with a nazar charm to name a few that he name. She also had several silver rings and most importantly, a halite tear drop necklace. It was all subtle but they were all there.

But none would save her from the Apocalypse.

Sam shook the thought away. Summer had gone back to the hospital to do a quickly check on the situation and help if she could. She was a doctor. It was her job. Likewise, it was their job to find what was the cause and end it. The younger Winchester turned his own laptop on and started his research starting with the town's history.

It mirrored the histories of the bigger cities nearby-- Seattle and Tacoma, and most of the Pacific Northwest. Tribes of Native Americans shared the land until the "White men" came and stroke a deal. There were treaties, not all of them were honestly followed by the parties involved. The lumber economy picked up. The railroads increased trade. The city flourished for a time. There was a crime problem. Crime problem eventually resolved and everything was right with the world.

Sam sighed massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming atop the one he already had. Nothing stuck out. In his experience, this means it could be any number of things. There were ancient curses since these were aboriginal lands. Or vengeful spirits from more troublesome times-- the treaties, the wars, the business fights, or crime. Scouring through centuries of detailed events wasn't his idea of fun. He knew his brother wasn't about to help, especially since something sounding like Real World was on.

"Okay," he resigned himself to his work. He was about to close all the windows open and start from the beginning when a picture caught his attention. There was a picture of a much younger sheriff taken nine years ago. The article basically said that he had just single handedly did the impossible-- he took on the gangs.

Possible in certain circumstances. But In less than a year?

"Dean," he called on his brother, "haven't we seen this guy in town?"

Dean bent over to check on the picture on screen. "That's the old doc's old friend."

-- -- -- -

"Well, holy drips didn't protect them for very long. It was fun while that lasted," she told herself while checking some of the children's charts. "Great," she sighed, making her way out of the ICU. She didn't even bother changing out of her civilian clothes when she came in the hospital. One look at the quarantine they finally set up and she knew she wasn't going to be there for very long. She was just going to check on some kids then be on her way. There was nothing else she could possibly do here-- not when the cause is out there.

"Doctor McKenzie," a voice made her stop in her tracks, "I thought I ordered you to take the day off."

She cringed. Doctor Washburne was one of those types that even the most disciplined soldier wouldn't impress him much. To say the man was strict was an understatement. Somehow, she always found herself in trouble with this guy. "Hey, Dr. Washburne," she slowly turned with a guilty smile, "you know me."

"Yes, I do," he replied, obviously not amused. "And I prescribe you to have a life."

"I have a life and I happen to like it," she defended herself.

"Summer," he said, looking up from his clipboard, "you've been here two years now?"

"I don't see a point, sir."

"You were in University when you were sixteen-"

"And?"

"-You're a MD by twenty three."

"It's a crime?"

"And you're twenty five finishing up your residency?" Dr. Washburne raised both his eyebrows at her. "Most people your age don't spend their two days off where they work. Most people your age haven't even finished med school. You're either here or at home. Staff tells me you rarely go out and when you do, you prefer to go that bar at the outskirts where old men go to tell their tales and troublemakers make their wares. Instead of the usual ones people your age go to," he stated, knowingly.

Summer crossed her arms. "Sir, you have a wife and two kids. Why are you stalking me?" she joked.

"Because you remind me of my good friend Paul Leslie," he replied. "He was the real determined type. He worked his way up the police force. In ten years, he only took one vacation-- a Mediterranean cruise with his then girlfriend. But his relationships tended to suffer because all he dedicated everything to his work. Now, don't get me wrong. This was before your time but this place was a dump and Paul did a real fine job cleaning this place up. He did it within a year too. Nobody knows how he did it, but he did. And what did he get in return?"

"I don't know, sir," She answered curiously.

"He ran for office and failed. Then he left town, ashamed of his loss," Doctor Washburne continued shaking his head. "Now he's around for the first time in a decade, reminiscing better times and still wearing that oboe pendant of his from when he was with that girl all those years ago. He's obviously still carrying a torch but it's too late. Everyone has moved on and he's alone," he recounted.

"That was a bit of an over dramatic over share, sir," Summer looked at her superior thoughtfully. "So your friend Paul-- this oboe necklace that he got with his girlfriend, does it actually work? When did he get here?" she asked.

Dr. Washburne's face fell. Summer saw the good doctor turn red and gripped his clipboard a bit more than usual. "The 21st," he answered trying to control himself. "And that's not the point of the story, Summer. I like you. You're a bit weird but you're a sweet girl and you work hard. You're a good doctor. The point is that your life," he gave her a quick pat on the head with a clipboard to emphasize his apparent point, "your life needs balance," he pointed out.

"Balance," she repeated. "Got it. Thanks, sir." She grinned, giving the old doctor a small hug.

"I don't want to see you here tomorrow unless I have you called in. Am I understood?" The man glared in reply.

"You got it, Dr. Washburne," she replied walking backwards to the door. "Balance right?"

"Balance," he nodded.

-- -- - -

Dean glanced at his brother quietly hanging out beside the car with a cup of coffee on hand. If it weren't for Metallica's Black album playing, he could probably hear a pin drop inside the Impala. He wanted to say something to break the ice but all he could think about was how weird the weather was. The Pacific Northwest supposed to be cloudy and muggy not sunny. Besides, how lame was it to talk to Sam about the weather? Sam was his brother, not a chick he wanted to pick up.

The ringing phone saved him from a potentially awkward conversation. "Who is it?" he asked.

"Summer," Sam replied, slightly surprised and a small smile.

"Well, stop playing hard to get," Dean teased. He saw the small smile grow bigger.

"You're just jealous. Jerk." his brother quipped before finally answering the phone.

"Bitch," he immediately shot back.

Staking out a police station was a new one on him. Normally, they would avoid the place at all cost. Their run ins with the law hasn't exactly panned out their way. Dean would personally rather drive around the city for a glimpse of the guy, but Sam insisted that it was a waste of gas. Instead, Sam had the bright idea of staking out his old place a business. "People visit their old place of employment all the time. It's like church," Sam had said.

Dean didn't have the heart to point out that if that were true, then Sam should've visited Stanford every time they were in the area.

Sam popped his head in the passenger window holding out his phone. "Summer thinks he's not possessed," he said, "I'm putting her on speaker."

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly.

"Winchesters?" Summer's voice came through the connection clearly.

"What kind of sicko hits on kids? He's gotta be possessed." he argued.

"The kind of sicko that wants revenge on the city. What can you do? Normal people are weird," she answered. "So how much do guys know about the Pied Piper of Hamlin?"

"There was a rat infestation. The pied piper got rid of it but he wasn't paid," Sam summarized.

"So he took it out on the kids," Dean finished, realizing what the girl was saying for the first time.

"Exactly. I was checking out the wrong lores because the Pied Piper killed all those kids. Not put them to sleep. There's time to stop this. Yay for us!" she said cheerfully.

"Dude, spirit possession means we have to salt and burn remains," Dean said narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"Well, it must be on him. We just have to find it," Sam replied.

"Guys, wait! I don't think you know---"

Dean looked up from the phone, past Sam and saw their mark shaking hands with a police officer. "Dude, there he is," he pointed at the man walking down the street.

"Winchesters? Hey guys, would you listen for a--"

"Don't worry about us, Summer," Sam replied while crossing the street, "Sit tight. It'll be over soon. I promise."

As much as the girl annoyed him, he must admit she was bringing out Sam version 1.0 complete with puppy eyes. Dean smirked, amused at the thought of one day hearing a uncomfortable conversation between Sam and Bobby about his godchild. Sam met his gaze briefly and frowned.

"Shut up," his brother told him.

"Dude, I didn't say anything," he replied.

"Yeah? Well you were not talking very loudly." Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes, further amusing his older brother.

They carefully trailed behind Paul trying to find an opportunity to strike. After several blocks, Dean was getting tired of the chase. He acted like the perfect gentleman. He opened doors, helped carry things, shook people's hands who recognized him. He smiled and laughed and chatted away like he was a human instead of the monster about to murder innocent children. "That overgrown boyscout's getting on my nerves," he muttered just as they crossed the street.

Paul Leslie turned a building corner leading to an alley and the boys stopped. "He knows," Sam said.

"Yeah, he does," Dean agreed, fingering the sawed- off shotgun pressing against his back. He nodded once he held it against the palm of his hand. Sam did the same. The counted to three and like so many times before, they entered the alley slowly with their guns leading the way.

The old officer just stood there in the middle, waiting for them. Gone was the man wishing the townspeople a good day. The way he stood and looked at them reminded Dean of a thug instead of a retired officer of the law. He didn't even bother playing the 'I'm innocent' card. He knew that they knew. "Boys, you've been trailing me since the station. You got something to say to me?" he inquired.

"Yeah," Dean replied rolling his eyes, "get over it."

"We know what you're doing to those kids. Stop it or we'll be forced to stop you," Sam threatened pulling the hammer of his gun.

Paul Leslie smiled. "Kids and their toys these days," he shook his head disappointed. "You boys don't have a silencer on those things. We're only four blocks away from the station. Get one shot out and police will be all over you."

"Been there, done that." Dean sang.

"Is that so?" The man grinned. "But have you been here and done this?"

Before Dean could pull the trigger, he saw the man blow into his whistle like pendant. Immediately, his hands went to his ears and he dropped to his feet. Beside him, he see the same thing happening to Sam. A shrill painful screaming was making his ears pound. Placing his hands on his ears didn't help block the sound at all. So Dean tried to steel himself and reach for his fallen shot gun. But another wave of sound hit him that even Sam's cry sounded muffled. He could feel his heart pounding as he gasped for breath as his lungs burned up. He was in pain but his hands and legs felt numb and cold as the world spun around him.

He had felt like this before when he accidentally electrocuted himself all those years ago.

This was what dying felt like.

Another ball of sound came crashing down on him. "Son of a--" he barely muttered watching a a figure of Paul Leslie victoriously backing away.

Just then, he saw something from above drop making the man fumble. He couldn't be sure because he was seeing multiple versions of the same thing swaying, but he was certain a small figure just used the fire escape to surprise the old man. Jabs were traded and blocked expertly. The old man grabbed the newcomer from behind just for the kid to kick off the wall sending them both fumbling backwards. Paul Leslie returned the favor with a right hook but it was deflected by the person's left hand. Using the officer's momentum, the smaller person slammed his right elbow on the man's cheek. Knee connected to the officer's abdomen and he was sprawled on the ground.

Dean almost smiled but another wave made him scream in pain. The figure turned standing still for the first time and Dean's eyes widened with shock. He recognized that black leather motorcycle jacket, ragged blue jeans, sneakers. More importantly, he met those blue eyes filled with worry--

-- and anger.

"Hand it over," her muffled voice seemed to demand.

"You have a choice here dear," Paul Leslie scampered backwards on the ground as the girl walked forward, the whistle on his mouth.

The girl paused, looked back then very reluctantly turned her back on their mark, letting him escape. The girl shook her head and knelt beside him. She quickly took her gloves off her hands and placed them on his neck as he trembled there on the ground.

"Sum...mer, Sam first... dying..." Dean managed to let out in gasps, feeling the darkness come closer.

"Listen to me," she said gently placing her warm on his cold cheek, "Sam's not dying. And neither are you." He met her gaze and she smiled. "Trust me, Dean Winchester. I've got you, I promise. You can let go."

Dean didn't know why but he believed her. Her hand on his cheek was the last thing he felt before he faded away.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Sam registered when he woke up was how soft and warm everything was. The next thing was that his body and his head felt like hell. His ears were ringing like he just got out of a really bad and loud concert or a hangover after a very bad drunken night out with Dean. He turned in his bed not bothering to open his eyes. Not until he heard 'Highway to Hell' start playing from somebody's phone did he realize that neither happened. He never went to a concert and he didn't get drunk.

"No, they're not up yet," a girl whispered, " Did you know they talk in their sleep?"

Highway to Hell wasn't Dean's ringtone and it certainly wasn't his.

He threw the covers in a panic and tried to make a run for it. But his knees gave way and he found himself dizzy and on the floor instead. The cooler air hit him like a cold splash of water. It was only then he realized that he only had his boxers on.

"We have a live one," an amused girl said, "I'll have them call you later, Uncle Bob."

The door swung open revealing an amused Summer McKenzie. Sam gave the girl an embarrassed smile. "Hi?" he tried, giving her a small wave.

Summer chuckled before helping him up back into bed. "Okay, you guys are so lucky I think this is funny," she said propping the pillow up so he can lean on it. "Stay still if you could please," she instructed before taking his pulse.

"Summer, where are my clothes?" he asked growing increasingly uncomfortable that he was half naked infront of a younger girl.

"In the laundry," she answered, grinning. "Still dizzy?"

"Not so much."

"Headache?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Ears still ringing?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay close your eyes," she instructed opening his palms. "Feel this?" she asked.

"Are you scratching my palm?"

"And this?"

"You're scratching my other palm?"

"Okay, open your eyes," she instructed, " and follow my finger with your eyes."

Sam did what he was told. It took him a second to remember she was a doctor. She was giving him a quick check up. "Anything wrong with me?" he asked.

"Try wriggling your toes and everything," she said lifting the end of blanket, "Do you feel numb anywhere?"

"No."

"Do you still feel like you're about to die?" she asked, holding his hand.

And then it came back to him. They were hunting that man Paul in the alley. He blew on some whistle and everything came crashing down on him. He saw his brother twitching on the ground but he couldn't do a thing. "Dean! Where's Dean?" he asked the girl.

She tilted her head on the other bed where he saw his brother fast asleep, with one hand hanging off the bed. Sam sighed in relief and leaned back. He vaguely remembered throwing up on a trash can though there was no sign of it now. He remembered hearing her tell him to calm down. He met her gaze not knowing exactly how to thank her for taking care of them.

"Do you want a lollipop for being such a cooperative patient?" she teased, getting off his bed. Sam was suddenly reminded of his brother. "Do me a favor and sit tight. I'm going to go get you some food and check on your clothes," she said disappearing out of the door.

Sam sighed looking up at the ceiling. The art nouveau circle lamp made him smirk. He was certain that they were probably the only ones who would know hanging their heads was a devil's trap seal in iron. "She really is Bobby's god daughter," he mumbled to himself in disbelief.

"SAM!" his brother suddenly yelled in the other bed. Sam watched his brother roll over and fall to the floor, looking up at him confused. "I'm in my underwear! Where are my clothes?" he realized.

"Oh wow," Summer appeared with a tray of food and a hanger with his clothes, trying to hold back her laughter, "you guys are brothers."

"You!" Dean shouted pointing a finger at the girl.

"Take it easy, Dean," Sam warned when he saw his brother try to get himself back into bed.

"Yeah, take it easy, Dean," Summer mimicked laying down the tray on Sam's lap. "Don't get your boxers in a twist," she teased, moving to help him.

"You could've gotten that son of a bitch!" Dean accused the girl once he was off the floor.

"I could have. But you would be in trouble if I had," she said, fixing his pillow.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, confused at why his brother was so angry.

"She came after us and had that bastard beat. But she turned her back and let him go," he argued.

"Yes. Because you had that look on your face that you were starting to believe that you were going to die which is the worst thing that anybody could do in that situation," Summer revealed. "You guys were having a panic attack and vertigo at the same time. A panic attack lasts for about ten minutes but everytime that guy blew on the pipe, your problem doubles. I was worried if your bodies would be able to take it," she replied, running her fingers through her hair. "Look, Sam was already passed out. But you," she jabbed a finger at Dean's chest, "your panic was escalating. I've never seen someone so ... You needed to be reassured that everything was going to be alright. And that's what I did," she explained, with a small smile. "Now would you hold still, please?" she requested. Dean fidgeted a bit. "Dean, please?" she repeated, a bit softer.

"Fine," Dean agreed uncomfortably, "But this feels a bit... dirty. And is that pie?"

Sam took bites of his apple pie breakfast completely amused. Dean went through relatively the same questions as he did with the young doctor. However, he has never seen his brother so uncomfortable and behaved at the same time. There was no wise crack or smart mouthing from him at all. He answered all the questions without meeting the girl's eyes. Sam could swear he had seen that expression before-- from a lost puppy being patched up by a vet.

Summer left the room to get more food and his brother's clothes. Highway to Hell started playing in the room once more as she left her phone on the side table between their beds. Sam met Dean's gaze and grinned. "What do you know? A nice hunter," he said.

His brother looked at him shocked, "Bite me," he snapped before he eyed his plate, "How's the pie?"

-- -- --

Summer McKenzie fingered the row of leather-bound A4 notebooks on her living room shelf. Most people think they're just for decoration. After all, why would she have so many of the same thing in different colours? No guest has ever taken one to look at. If they did, they would probably think it was a joke. These notebooks chronicled every monster and lore her parents ever encountered or dared to research on. They was colour coded and then regionally and alphabetically arranged. "So, I was seven and we were in Germany because someone asked dad to find the Pied Piper's Pipe," she said pulling out a notebook and giving it to the boys on her couch.

"You were in Germany?" Dean inquired.

"Yeah, i grew up nomadic," she replied, pointing at the notebook. "That's our file of that hunt."

"...But this is a story about Pan's Pipe," Sam said carefully.

"Pan, the Greek god, Pan?" Dean asked

"Yes, Pan or Faunus, whichever you subscribe to. Half man half goat and kind of pervy," Summer quickly replied, pacing in front of them. "Anyway, the legend of Pan's Pipe was that Pan was chasing after this nymph who didn't really like him all that much--"

The older Winchester chuckled, "Busted."

"Very," Summer agreed. "So the nymph went to her sisters and her sisters turned her into a reed. Pan didn't know which reed she was so he cut them down and made them into the musical instrument he cannot live without, the pan pipe," She summarized.

"So," Dean gave her a mischievous grin, " when he blows and plays that thing, he's actually giving--"

"Aw, thanks a lot Dean," Sam groaned.

Summer snickered. "My dad cracked the same joke and my mom covered my ears but it was too late," she sighed remembering happier times. "Anyway, so what happened was everyone thought it was myth, legend and lost. But we came across this text that every academic translated as 'he taught shepherds the pipe'. But it was mistranslated using Ancient Greek. It should've been 'He _gave_ the shepherds the pipe'."

"Gave. The original pipe?" Sam asked lifting his gaze from the notebook.

"Yeah, like Prometheus stole fire and gave it to mortals," she continued. "Pan gave his pipe. So the pipe got disassembled so people could copy it but the individual reeds remained. Seven of them in total and all the reeds had some residual Pan Power. There were small patterns here and there to catch it but we found out most of them was destroyed. Five for sure burned with during the medieval inquisition-- old hunters hunting witches and stuff. Two of them remained. One of them, the smallest one, was refashioned and passed along a family."

"Parties, festivals, animal charming..." Sam read off the notebook.

"Like rats," Dean frowned.

"The Pied Piper did it for the money," Summer said. "The guests of the courts he happened to play for claim that i was the best party they've been to. The Kings would say he was also one of the most expensive and most elusive jesters. The Pied Piper was never pinned down to be a court musician. I mean, the only way we were able to track him was by the money trail. Then he hit rat infested Hameln and people refused to pay. He kidnapped those children and they were never seen again," she said. "He died without issue. But the next person to hold the pipe was another jester. Strictly minor leagues. He was court musician. We tracked that pipe from Germany, Romania, Spain, then all the way to Italy, then the trail turned cold," she stopped pacing. "We guessed that nobody after the Piper figured out the real power of the pipe and the type of music itself lost its popularity."

"You said we have until the 26th with the kids?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah, that's what I reckon because that's when the Pied Piper did his disappearing act. June 26. Dad used to say that artifacts like this tend to feed off spirit residue. June 26 was when the Piper was most insidious." Summer shrugged.

"Great," Dean said standing from his seat, "so this guy knows we're after him. If we're going to play hide and go seek, we only have a day to find him."

Sam followed his brother and took his jacket off the coat rack. "We should stop by a pharmacy first and get some ear plugs. Legend has it that the deaf kid wasn't affected."

"Just as long as it's those foam ones. The other kind makes me feel like I got too much ear wax."

"Dean, that's disgusting."

Summer stared at the bickering brothers as they put on their shoes by her doorway. She crossed her arms, trying to hide the amusement in her face. "Winchesters, he's been in the St. Raphael's Hospital the whole day." she called out before they stepped out the door, "I'm not going with you. Three is a crowd," she joked. "Besides, there's something I need to check so be careful. She tossed a small screen which Sam expertly caught.

"GPS?"

"You didn't think I'd let him get away easy yesterday did you?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Sam."

"Dean." Sam stopped trying to jimmy a hidden employee access door to look up to his brother.

"I want one," Dean said, giving his brother his best pleading look, "This is awesome. It's like... the terminator eyes." He had to hand it to this GPS screen. Not only did it tell him where in the city their mark was, it also had this little white shell building version of the hospital that marked the man with a blinking red dot. On the side of the screen, it showed altitude readings. Which meant one thing-- they knew where exactly this scumbag Paul Leslie was.

Or at least Sam did.

The same Sam who just chuckled and went back to work on that door. "What are you even going to do with that? You can't stick it on a ghost."

Dean smirked. "Oh, I can think of of lots," he replied, wistfully, " Like hide and go seek in the dark."

"Regressing already?"

"With the female species," he very slowly explained. "It's a game, Sammy. One day, when you've grown up to be a man, you'll learn how to play these games," he teased when his brother stopped what he was doing once more to give him a mortified expression.

"Dean, I did not need to know that!" Sam exclaimed tugging on the knob to finally open the door.

Sometimes, it absolutely amazes Dean how innocent his brother could be about these things. And to think that it was Sam who's had a hand at a long term relationship. It was a wonder how he ever kept that alive with the dearly departed Jessica. "Here you go Sammy," he tossed the handheld to his brother to lead the way, "take us down to paradise city," he said dryly.

"Dude, really?" Sam threw him a doubtful glance as he lead the way to a service elevator, "Guns n' Roses?"

"I think I'm going to put on my earplugs now," he declared innocently ignoring the comment. He saw his brother do the same while saying something. "What? Sammy, What did you say? I can't hear you," he yelled in jest. Sam quickly placed his own on simply rolled his eyes and gave him a tart smile in reply.

The elevator doors slid opened revealing a busy floor. Sam took one look at the screen and tilted his head towards one side. Dean was quick to follow him down the corridor, smiling at the pretty nurses and doctors that he happened to catch eying him. They looked away flustered and he smiled inwardly. _Maybe later,_ he thought.

Right now, there was work to do.

They went through double doors and he had to stop walking. There were letter blocks, balloons and teddy bears painted on the otherwise stark walls. They've arrived at the children's ward. He couldn't hear anything but he could tell it was quiet. It was certainly a departure from the hustle and bustle of the other hall they came from. Besides from a few nurses in the central station and a few parents inside the rooms, the place was devoid of life.

Dean has seen some weird things before, but this scene made him cold.

Sam cocked his head again towards and adjoining corridor. Dean took a peek at every window there was and inside were children just lying there, hooked up to the liquids and machines that were keeping them alive. To be able to have the gall, to do this children just for revenge-- He silently swore that he was, without a doubt, going to kill that miserable excuse for a human being.

He grabbed Sam's collar stopping him from turning another corner when he saw the man himself leaving a patient's room, shaking hands with a parent. He looked up and down the corridor. When he was satisfied that nobody was there, he decided to act. "Hey Leslie," he called out, or at least he thought he did. His voice echoed in his head. "Just when you think you've gotten rid of us."

Paul Leslie turned ashen in shock. He said something and quickly blew on the whistle. Dean shot his hand to the side, absently grabbing his brother's jacket, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. He exchanged victorious smiles with Sam as the old officer tried again.

"Look, it doesn't work old man," Dean said, not knowing how loud he exactly said it, "Just do it the easy way and give us the pipe."

Of course, they never did it the easy way. The old man just lowered his gaze, the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. He blew on the pipe again. Dean couldn't understand why but the man looked more confident this time. His mouth moved and nodded at something behind them. Moments later, he felt Sam grab his collar forcing him to turn.

He saw why their mark was so confident.

-- -- --

Paul Leslie saw the children rise from their beds and rush to the two men who was slowly but surely taking slow and measured steps to take him. The two men didn't hear his little army fumble wake, nor did they hear him say, "Look behind you," he nodded towards his small army. The children crept up behind the two men, holding whatever they could grab to throw and stab. By the time, the two realized what was happening, it was too late.

That was the problem with earplugs. Wear a pair and one's early warning alarm gets turned off.

"Dean!" the taller one called out pushing a rabid child away.

His companion just wailed in pain when several children bite down on his leg, "Son of a--" he cursed, swatting them away.

"Careful, they're just kids," Paul taunted, though he knew they couldn't hear him. He rounded several corners and passed through several doors. He had no doubt in his mind that the children would slow the boys down, maybe even kill them. He, however, was not going to get ahead of himself. Those two knew the truth to his little weapon. He didn't know how many else would try to stop him or how they found him in the first place but he decided that the most prudent thing to do until he could finish his plan, was to hide. Hide where no one would think to look, a place with a lot of children nearby that were already in his control.

"The chapel," he remembered the often forgotten niche of the St. Raphael's hospital. If he remembered correctly, it was always mostly empty on a busy day. If they decided to hold mass, a priest from the outside was brought in. Otherwise, it was just another empty room at the end of a building wing. He passed through the wooden doors, relieved when he found the place dusty and empty. With a sigh, he sat down on the nearest pew to catch his breath.

A few moments later, he heard the door open and close quietly behind him. Standing on the doorway was the same girl in the alley just the day before. She was even clad with the same zipped up black leather motorcycle jacket, black leather gloves and boots. at first glance, she didn't look like a threat. But the alley tussle told him otherwise. She tied her long black hair back and waved at him, a small smile on her face. "Hi," she greeted.

He stood, holding his pipe, ready to blow upon it if he needed to. "Who are you?" he asked, frustration mounting in his voice. How many people knew about him and his abilities? How many people exactly were out there? Paul's frown deepened trying to control himself from lashing out thoughtlessly._ It won't solve anything_, he told himself.

"I'm Dr. McKenzie," she answered breezily while crossing herself. "I work in this hospital and we need to talk," she said meeting his gaze.

"You're a doctor?" he replied, unconvinced, "A doctor that just happens to wear weighted gloves, steel toe boots, and, oh, a tactical leather jacket? I'm sure talking is high on your agenda."

"Mr. Leslie, we both know that whatever I'm wearing, it's not going to help me with what you're packing. I'm not even wearing earplugs. That's enough of a sign of good faith. Enough for you to hear me out," she pointed out.

Paul eyed the girl suspiciously. All she did was lean against the last pew waiting for him to answer. He fingered the pipe pendant he wore as a precaution and to remind her of the threat he posed. But she didn't move to stop him from doing anything. She merely tilted her head to one side, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him. "What do you want kid?"

"You need to blow on that pipe and reverse what you've done since you arrived in town," she simply answered.

"Or what?"

"Or you're going to die by that thing," she finished. She pointed at the pendant he was holding and shrugged. "What comes around, goes around. I checked."

Paul chuckled. "I'm going to die eventually kid," he replied, "And when I do, I'm going to drag this under- appreciating city down. You and your friends are not going to stop me," he stated, lifting the pipe to his lips and took a deep breath. He had personally had enough from these youngsters. They needed to be taught a lesson.

He didn't see a prayer book fly across the room but he definitely felt the pain when it hit the bridge of his nose. The old officer dropped the pipe instinctively when his hands flew to his nose. He cursed angrily when he saw blood in his hands. He caught a sight of the girl waving a paperback book to his direction. "It's the golden rule sir," she said, dead serious this time. "The power of God compels you."

"Compel this." He lifted the pipe to his lips once more. He was able to dodge two paperback books thrown to his direction. However, he realized that they weren't aimed at him. They were merely distractions, something to concentrate on so he could not blow on the pipe. It was then Paul caught sight of the change in the girl. In a blink of an eye, another persona was heading right for him, someone more focused, almost icy. He tried to let air pass through the pipe but it was too late.

-- -- -- - -

Dr. James Washburne was having the most surreal day. It was the stuff nightmares are made of. The children all sat up, eyes wide open, staring blankly ahead all at the same time. Parents, doctors, nurses,-- just everyone who were just delicately hanging on to any semblance of sanity were now at a loss of what to do. They didn't know what was happening. There was nothing anyone in the hospital could do.

But pray.

He made his way to the small chapel to pray to his favorite saint, St. Raphael, who the hospital was named after. But on his way there, two men ran through the double doors connecting to the west wing and barred the doors from opening with a shotgun. He swore he saw dazed children running after them, some with scalpels on hand.

The boys themselves fell to the floor trying to catch their breath. They were both bleeding sporting several cuts and stab wounds. The old doctor could even see shards of glass caught in the taller man's hair.

"I'm going to kill that son of a bitch," the smaller, older looking one swore.

Dr. Washburne remembered them now. They were the boys posing as the CDC just the other day. Though now, the monkey suits were gone and they looked like they just fought a war. "Boys, what's going on here?" he asked. The fear and uncertainty he already felt was now being fueled not by his own thoughts but the urgent pounding from behind the door.

The two just stared at him for a second, picking themselves off the floor, before the smaller one blurted out, "The kids are being controlled by your old friend Paul Leslie," like events like these happen regularly.

It took the doctor several moments to understand. It didn't make sense. Mind control was the work of science fiction. There was no scientific fact to back up a claim like that. "Mind control. Like witchcraft?" he finally asked, doubting the very words he let out.

"More like dog trainers," the taller one said, carefully, with a cringe that said that he would rather not know. "Do you know where your friend is? We want a word with him."

Suddenly he heard something crashing from the north wing. He ran towards the noise and was about to turn the corner when someone held him back. "This is my hospital. I am responsible for the people here," he bravely told the older boy holding him.

"Yeah, but we want to know if it's more kids so we have a head start with the running," he replied with a humourless smile.

"Dean," the younger one looked back, "it's Summer."

"I thought that girl said she was staying behind," Dean said, letting the doctor go.

Dr. Washburne only knew one Summer in the city. He took a peek at what's round the corner filled with dread. There he saw one of the chapel doors had fallen. One of his youngest residents was trying to pick herself off the fallen door. Blood dripped down her lip as she held her jaw with one hand. He barely recognize his old friend coming out of the chapel looming over her like a school yard bully.

"Just listen to me," she cried, "I'm being honest here. That pipe isn't doing what you want for free."

"Child, I've been using this pipe for almost a decade now and it's never done anything to me," Paul replied. He lashed out he foot aiming at the girl's face.

But Summer blocked it with her both her hands and pushed down. Doctor Washburne saw the resident tackle the older man sending him slamming to the wall behind. She was obviously more capable in defending herself than he thought she was, which surprised the old doctor quite a bit. "Everything has a price. There's no such thing as a free lunch," she argued, stepping back for a second to wipe the blood from the cut on her lip with the back of her glove.

"That's a lesson this city is going to learn," Paul growled throwing a punch after punch that were either blocked or dodged. "Did they think I'd let them go after I spent all my energy mopping up this hell hole and I got nothing in return?! As you said, there's no such thing as a free lunch," he shot back, fists leading the way.

The girl redirected the last jab and kneed the man's middle before shoving him forcefully back against the wall. "You're unappreciated. I get it. But listen to me," she demanded, kicking the man back when he made another move for her, "The pipe made an immortal god mortal. What do you think it's going to do to you?"

Dr. Washburne watched his friend lunge for the doctor once more. His force was used against him and he slammed to the opposite wall before being released.

"Dammit, she's staying on defense. She's not going for the kill," the man named Dean cursed.

"She doesn't have earplugs on either," his companion pointed out.

"Put yours on Sam, we're--"

Dr. Washburne didn't hear the end of the sentence. He had personally had enough and Paul was his friend. He can reason with him. He can try to get some sense into everyone, stop the violence in his hospital, put things back to normal. "What's going on here?" He called down the hall as he tentatively rounded the corner. "Paul, are you causing all this?" He asked just as Summer twisted his friend's arm behind him to pin him.

Two pairs of eyes focused on him, one narrowed in anger, one wide eyed with shock fear. It was Paul who let out a sneer so vindictive, it sent chills down the his spine. His friend's face was the sort of distorted figure he had only seen in mentally unstable people, the violent kind that had left reality behind. He saw his friend's free hand reach for his pendant.

It was Summer who ran towards him, releasing the old officer all together and taking something out of her jean pocket. His friend blew his whistle furiously. Doctor Washburne stood still in shock when she slid something in both his ears. A few seconds after, the young doctor fell to her knees gasping for air. And he fell on one knee trying to help his colleague but she kept waving him away as if to tell him to run.

The two injured men rushed out of the corner. They both took Paul on as Dr. Washburne knelt on the floor, stunned. It was like a silent opera or a movie scene where the sounds were cut for the effect of it all and the players were all moving in slow motion. His friend landed a few punches but that was it. The smaller one, Dean, had both his arms and his neck locked. The taller one, Sam, grabbed the necklace from his neck and brought out a lighter from his pocket. Paul was struggling to get free.

Dr. Washburne took his silicon earplugs out just in time to watch Dean nod a silent order. The taller one, Sam, immediately grabbed the necklace from Paul's neck and brought out a lighter from his pocket. Paul was struggling to get free. Sam was struggling to get a light.

"Don't," Summer managed to say, grabbing his coat and getting his attention "They can't hear..." she struggled to say. "Stop them... don't burn," she pleaded before releasing his collar.

He propped the girl against the wall and rushed to the boys to do what she said. But it was too late. Sam had the flame beneath the necklace and the wooden pendant had already started to take to the fire. "Put that out!" he yelled knocking the pendant from the youngster's hand. But it was too late. The most agonizing scream came from Paul's lips. Dean released his friend and Paul fell, twitching and trembling, unable to breath, unable to control any of his functions. His eyes darted wildly about then glazed.

His practice took over and he rushed to his friend's side. "Paul!" He looked up at the two standing figures, scared and confused, when his friend went limp in his arms. He had no pulse and try as he might to resuscitate him, Paul wasn't responding. His friend was dead.

"What did you do?" he asked, at a loss of anything else to say.

"We didn't do anything," Sam said with a grim frown.

"Reasoning with crazy people ever work for you?" Dean knelt before the fallen doctor a few feet away.

Dr. Washburne saw that her eyes were closed and her head was raised to the ceiling, which helped open her airway to breathe a bit more freely. Although she was as pale as the white walls, she was alive. "Sometimes," she answered dryly in one breath.

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" Dr. Washburne finally requested.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean Winchester stared at the mini zen garden decor that Summer had taken from the shelf and placed infront of him. It was late. After they got back being patched up in the hospital, explaining the situation to Dr. Washburne and grabbing dinner, all Sam wanted to do was go to sleep. He didn't blame his brother. He was tired too.

In fact, he was so sure that the Dr. Summer McKenzie was equally down for the count until she said, "I'm going to show you something," when Sam disappeared upstairs.

So he had stayed, sitting by her dinner table, waiting for what she had to show-- a plate with a mini rake, white sand, a few black stones and a reed standing on one corner. "Om?" he said, confused.

The girl placed two glasses on the table and poured them a little whiskey from an almost empty decanter before taking her seat across him. "Pan's pipe had seven reeds. Five were destroyed with their owners during the Inquisition. One was the Pied Piper's Pipe and..." she lifted her glass and toasted to the mini zen garden.

"That's the seventh pipe?" Dean gaped in disbelief.

"We found it in Crete," she confirmed, with a tired smile.

"Shouldn't that be in a safe or something?"

"I've been taught to hide things in plain sight. Robbers go for the safe not living room decor."

"So?"

"So you can have it," she replied simply, leaning back on her chair.

"Say what?!" Dean leaned forward shooting the girl a surprised look. "What the hell am I going to do with that?"

"Whatever you want," she shrugged. "The titans would've invaded Olympus if it weren't for Pan playing music that caused them to panic. That made them easy pickings for the Olympians. The ones burned at the stake used it to control living things. Pied Piper used the pipe for rats and kids and parties, Paul Leslie used it on everybody..." she recounted.

"And?"

"And it was made by a god. It will work on every being under creation. Animals, children, adults, vampires, shape shifters, demi- gods, ..." she trailed on.

"Angels, demons and the devil himself?"

"It's a weapon."

"And the only guide is the Golden Rule," he mused.

"That's the only catch," she sighed. "I've never used it. I've never had to nor do I ever intend to. But then, I'm not the one warding off the apocalypse." she confessed, taking a sip of whiskey, "I'm not saying to use it to confound anything that picks on you because that's your decision to make. I'm just saying that if you want it, you can have it."

Dean eyed the reed then the girl across him curiously. Summer was beat up, tired and hurt yet she sat across him, an easy smile on her face and a glass of whiskey in her hand-- like she had ended up like this so many times before. Behind her, her living room shelves were filled with adventures a nomadic childhood. There were probably lores of creatures there they've never even heard of. But she sat there all the same, no judgment in her calm blue eyes. She's probably seen stranger things happen and probably some of the worst humanity had to offer. But she was still... nice. Not angry like Sam and definitely nothing like himself. "So you're Bobby's goddaughter, huh?" His curiosity finally bested him.

"That's me," she replied.

"So what happened? Bobby's not the type to kick strays to the curb," he asked.

"It's a long story." Summer smirked. "What happened to you? Uncle Bob's not the type to let people cross the line if he can still shoot you," she shrugged,

"Oh, look at the feist in you," Dean grinned, "I'll tell if you tell," he challenged.

She laughed and stood from her seat, "Lucky I have another bottle in the kitchen."

-- --- --

Sam looked out the Impala's window watching the green scenery of Washington state turn into a blur. He had to admit he would rather spend a few more days in the relative safety of Summer's house as their wounds heal but there was disturbing signs popping up all over the country. Whether it was apocalypse related, they weren't sure. It didn't matter. They had to check it out anyway. That's just the way they were.

He heard Dean chuckle at nothing in particular, a small smile playing on his face. Curiosity got the better of Sam when his brother snorted. They had seen nothing but trees, mountains and concrete for miles. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"She was named after a Sinatra song," Dean answered, grinning. "Good thing she never went to school. She would've been picked on from sun up til sun down."

Sam was now utterly fascinated. He saw the half empty bottle of whiskey on the dining table when he came down for breakfast and figured the two had some time to themselves. But Dean was fast asleep when on the twin bed beside his when he left the room. Summer was down a few minutes after him with an empty bottle of Gatorade in her hand. They had talked while breakfast was cooking. However, he suspected his brother had the more in depth conversation. It amused him to say the least-- Dean after all, wasn't the kind to write his life story on paper. "Well, look who had a heart to heart with Summer," he teased.

"It's not like that," Dean stated suddenly on the defensive, "Get your mind of the gutter, Sammy."

"Right, because she's Bobby's goddaughter," Sam continued unconvinced. "You hit on Jo," he pointed out, silently adding a prayer for the young girl's soul.

"She reminds me a bit of someone, alright?" Dean replied.

"Really?" Sam shrugged, mentally going through his brother's old girlfriends and numerous one night stands that he knew about. "She doesn't really seem like the type you like. She kinda reminds me of Bobby though," he offered, crinkling his nose at the idea of a female Bobby with a shotgun.

He saw his brother give him a sideways glance. "She reminds me a bit of you, chuckles," he finally said. "Trying to do the right thing, absolutely convinced that there's a better way to go about things, thinking twice before hurting a fly--- a walking encyclopedia of freak," he enumerated. "That was you. After Stanford."

Sam paused for a second, thinking about what he had just said "Things change," was all he could say.

"Awwww, so sad. Poor little Sammy," Dean shot back with a tell tale smirk. "Cry me a river."

Sam rolled his eyes and resumed looking out the window with a small smile. Somethings did change but some just don't. Riding shotgun in the Impala while his brother drove down blacktop was sort of comforting that way. This is what they've always done together.

And whatever happens or until something better comes along, he plans to keep it this way.


End file.
